


An Island (in Search) of Castaways

by tigerlily_sunshine



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Airplane Crash, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Desert Island, Discussion of Death, Hints of ot4 - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Really Character Death, OT4, Survival, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 19:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6091045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerlily_sunshine/pseuds/tigerlily_sunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a moment, everything was perfect. </p><p>Luke’s voice was tiny in Ashton’s ear. </p><p>Something about the taste of the ocean. </p><p>And then…</p><p>(In which 5SOS's plane falls out of the sky, and Ashton, Michael, and Calum end up on an island without Luke.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Island (in Search) of Castaways

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from "Outer Space/Carry On" by 5SOS. It is heavily influenced by the songs, at least the tone of it is. It's sort of a songfic but not in the conventional sense. There are references - both implicit and explicit - to the lyrics, which of course belong to 5SOS and not me, but it's all for the greater good of the story.

When Ashton wakes up, he’s alone.

He’s terrified.

It’s too quiet.

The sun is too bright over his head. He can’t see anything except a deep blue horizon and an endless white beach. His face is pressed against the sand. His front side is soaked, and his clothes cling humidly to his skin. His backside, though, is crisp in dryness. He has been lying here a while. For how long, he isn’t sure. He has lost all sense of time, transfixed by the waves that crash against the rocky shore. He watches them rush in and then ebb out slowly, a paradox of might and serenity. Like the build and fall of his favorite song.

The ocean herself is still breathing, carrying on despite the horror Ashton knows she swallowed up.

The plane.

Ashton doesn’t remember much. Everything was fine. Calum was snoring softly in the seat in front of him. Luke had staggered off to the toilets, muttering about needing to piss and _keep your damn feet out of the aisle, Calum!_ Ashton himself was strapped to his own seat next to Michael, sharing headphones because Ashton’s had finally snapped in half about ten minutes into the flight. Michael is a good friend. He had offered Ashton his other earbud, and that was that. They settled in for their long flight back to Sydney, happy to be going home— _finally_ —after so much time away.

For a moment, everything was perfect.

Luke’s voice was tiny in Ashton’s ear.

Something about _the taste of the ocean_.

And then…

The right engine _boomed_ , flames licking back through the aircraft. The plane lurched. Sideways first and then downward, and that was when the emergency lights began flashing. The oxygen masks fell down. The screaming started. Ashton doesn’t remember putting on his mask or even his life jacket, but he must’ve done both, because he remembers gripping Michael’s hand as the plane plummeted toward the brutal ocean and yelling, above the screams to be heard, _don’t inflate it ‘til you’re out, dammit!_

The impact—it was… it jarred Ashton to his very bones, to his core. He’d feared he’d been snapped in half, completely somehow. His entire body felt like one big bruise. Instant. No build up. There was just the fall and then the crash.

What followed was chaos. There were people pushing others, and people inflating their life jackets, and Michael’s hand slipped from Ashton’s and never returned.

Everything in between then and now, is irrelevant. Ashton had gotten out of the plane, dove beneath the waterline to emerge on the other, wide-open side. That is when he’d pulled the string to inflate his life jacket. He remembers screaming _Michael! Calum! Luke!_ but nobody yelled back.

It was pitch-black, the dead of night. So dark that even the moon was afraid to make an appearance, but the top half of the plane that had yet to descend beneath the surface was burning. The fire threw an eerie orange glow over everything, like the candles that Ashton’s mother lit on Christmas Eve night.

Ashton had looked for his friends, for the familiar faces of the few crew members who had boarded the plane with them, but he saw none.

When the plane lurched, it fell deeper into the water, and Ashton knew somewhere in the back of his mind that the ocean was brutal. She’d swallow them all up if they so let her.

So Ashton swam.

And swam.

And swam until he couldn’t swim any longer.

Then he’d just floated. He couldn’t see the plane wreckage anymore. He didn’t know if that was because he was so far away or because the ocean had finally gotten hungry enough to eat it all up. He couldn’t see anything.

Even worse, he couldn’t hear anything.

And Ashton was alone.

 

It’s tough, assessing himself. His entire body hurts. Now probably worse than it did upon those first few shock-filled minutes that followed the impact. He has to get up, though. He is on dry land, and there’s a plane beneath the waterline now that probably holds the bodies of—

 _No_.

He’s not going to think about it.

If he thinks about it, he’ll… he’ll cease to exist, too.

He can’t. He has to push on. He has to _carry on_.

With a tremendous amount of effort, more than he’s probably ever exerted in his entire life, he pushes himself to his hands and knees. He’d lost his shoes in the ocean. One almost as soon as he’d kicked free from the plane. The other, he’d kicked off in the futility of it.

He stands barefoot and only partially drenched in ocean water. His knees threaten to buckle underneath him, but he stands tall. Firm. Like a man shouldering the weight of the entire world for the first time. His chest feels hollow. Empty. His thoughts are not friendly. He almost topples back to the sandy ground against the onslaught of them.

_They’re dead, his friends._

_They have to be._

_Calum and Luke and Michael._

Ashton hadn’t seen them in the water. The last he’d seen of Michael was that awful second whenever Michael’s hand slipped from his own and Michael disappeared into the pushing throng of hysterical passengers, all doomed to a watery grave. Calum—Ashton hadn’t seen him at all whenever the crowd of passengers had surged, panicked to get to the exit. And Luke… Luke hadn’t even been in his seat whenever the plane had gone down.

There is a bad taste in the back of Ashton’s mouth at the thought of his friends resting in eternal slumber at the bottom of the ocean. His stomach churns. He almost wants to vomit. Or to rush back out into the waves and beg them to take him, too, because wherever Luke and Calum and Michael are, that’s where Ashton would like to be as well.

The sun is sweltering hot, and the air is thick with humidity. Ashton is dying of thirst. He needs to find fresh water. He turns his back on the blue horizon and considers the paradise before him. It’s not a paradise, really, but it’s what all of the pictures on the calendars themed paradise look like. The beach extends a fair distance from the waterline before it gives away to the beginning of the lush tropical vegetation. The island has an incline. The farthest of the trees that Ashton can see are much taller than the ones closest to him. Surely, there is a collection of fresh water somewhere at the base of the incline.

He can’t help but to look back at the blue horizon in the hopes that maybe there is a ship out there or a rescue helicopter in the sky. The plane had been a commercial airline. There is bound to be a rescue mission already en route to the crash site, but if there is, Ashton can’t see it. Perhaps it’s too soon to expect anybody to know exactly where the plane went down at.

Ashton sighs. As he is turning back around to face inland, something catches his eye. At first, he thinks it’s a trick of the light. A mirage. Or possibly even just his hopeful imagination picturing what he desperately wishes were there. The waves rush in and crash over the rocks before they ebb away again, and the thing is still there.

A head of red-hair.

Ashton launches himself across the beach, all thoughts of fresh water and rescue out of his mind. His feet pound against the hot sand. His lungs burn with exertion. His body is one big bruise, and every step aches, but he pushes himself faster. He runs, and he runs, and he runs until he stumbles to a halt right at the edge of the rocks.

For a split second, he’s frozen. It’s Michael wedged in between two medium-sized, weathered-down boulders. He is still wearing the denim jacket he’d worn on the plane. There is a hole in the right elbow of it. He, too, has lost his shoes, and his toes stick out of the shallow water where the ocean ends. His eyes are closed like he’s in a deep sleep—the kind on sleep he only manages to fall into whenever they finally take a break after touring for two months straight.

Only Ashton fears he might not just be sleeping this time. There is an ugly gash right across Michael’s forehead. It’s not bleeding anymore, but Ashton can’t tell if that’s because of the waves washing over him or if that’s because there’s nothing pumping blood through his veins anymore.

But _no_. Ashton can’t think like that. He can’t even consider that whenever Michael is right here within reach once again.

Ashton forces himself forward. He jumps over the rocks, slipping and sliding until he can reach Michael, and it’s then, in the fraction of a second before he touches Michael, that he spots Calum. Because, of course, they’d be together. Ashton can’t think of a single thing those two have ever done without one another, and there was no way in hell that Michael would let Calum die alone in that plane. Or that Calum would let Michael.

Calum is slouched over the curve of one of the rocks, still mostly emerged in the water. He has one hand locked tight in Michael’s and his other arm anchored to the rock to keep from floating back out with the waves. At first, Ashton fears he, too, might be dead, but then Calum squints open his eyes until he can see Ashton properly. They’re bloodshot around the brown, and Ashton doesn’t think he’s ever seen such a beautiful sight in his entire life. Calum grins.

“Interested in a swim?”

“Are you?”Ashton shoots back, both relieved and exasperated at once.

He matches Calum’s grin, though. He turns back to Michael to find Michael already looking up at him. Ashton smiles even wider, so wide that his face hurts. A rush of relief floods Ashton’s entire body. It’s stolen in the next second, replaced by worry. Michael blinks, disoriented, and he starts to get up, but he curses out an _ow!_ and falls back into the wet sand. An ocean wave washes up to his shoulders then retreats.

“What hurts?” asks Ashton, because he needs to know if it’s something too bad to chance to move Michael. He rakes his eyes over Michael’s body. Other than the ugly gash across his forehead, he doesn’t look too beaten up. Ashton knows, though, that looks can be misleading. Their plane fell out of the sky with them in it. Michael could be injured in a way that Ashton can’t see.

“Everything,” rasps Michael. He winces at the sound of his own voice. “Fucking hell. ‘M never flying again.”

 _You and me both_ , thinks Ashton but he doesn’t say. The waves are coming in stronger now. He and the others need to move farther up the beach. The last thing they need is to be carried back out to sea. To the ocean that had almost swallowed them up once. Ashton doesn’t want to give her another chance. 

Calum seems to have the same idea. He goes to stand, but Michael’s hand doesn’t allow him to do anything more than get to his knees. He tries to coax Michael into letting him go— _just long enough for us to get out of the water, Mikey_ —but Michael doesn’t budge. Calum and Ashton both know how stubborn Michael can be. How head-strong he can be. Calum looks helplessly to Ashton, because Ashton has always been a good person to turn to whenever things get tough.

Things have never been tougher.

“C’mon, Mike,” says Ashton.

He bends down to grab Michael underneath his arm pits. He heaves Michael up to his feet. Once there, Michael is unsteady, but he doesn’t howl in pain, so Ashton figures he’s not any worse off than any of them. Ashton maneuvers Michael until he gets underneath Michael’s arm. Together, he and Calum and Michael stumble out of the water.

They collapse in the sand after only a few steps. They’re all tired, their bodies bruised by the crash and battered by the might of the unforgiving ocean. Ashton leans against Michael. His thirst is back tenfold now. He’s sure the other two can’t be much better, but they can afford a few minutes of rest before they embark on a quest to find fresh water.

“I lost you,” says Michael. His voice is still raspy. It sounds like it does whenever he’s put on vocal rest and he doesn’t use the notepad they give him to communicate. “In the plane. I thought—I thought you were gone forever.”

“I thought you were, too,” says Ashton, quietly.

It’s the truth. Ashton has been afraid a lot of times throughout his life, but nothing will ever compare to the flash of fear that overwhelmed his body when Michael’s hand slipped from his and didn’t return. Even now, Ashton can feel the ghost of Michael’s hand slipping out of his own. He reaches for Michael’s, having to bend his elbow to interlock their fingers. Michael’s arm is still slung across his shoulder. When their hands touch, Michael squeezes Ashton’s hand so hard that Ashton knows he, too, is thinking of that awful second.

“I found Cal by accident once I was out of the plane,” says Michael. He talks like he has to get this out. Like he has to tell the others about the horror that had been the crash. It’s how he talks about his nightmares. Practical. Detailed. Detached. “People were trying to climb onto the hull of it, because they couldn’t swim, and some of them didn’t have their jackets. It was… It was _terrifying_ , and I was frozen. I didn’t know what to do. I mean, who the hell has a plan for what they’re going to do whenever their damn plane crashes into the fucking ocean?”

 He’s quiet for a moment. Calum and Ashton are, too. This is how Michael deals with things. He talks them out. If he can’t talk them out, he’ll write a song and he’ll play his heart out on his guitar. Something always has to give for Michael. Right now, what’s giving is the thoughts that are spinning around inside of his mind.

“Calum does, that’s who,” he says. He grins over at the man in question, and Calum knocks their heads together, mindful of the gash across Michael’s. “I felt somebody grab me by the back of my jacket, and I whipped around. I was going to deck the guy, you see? But it was Calum, and, fucking hell, I’d never been so happy to see somebody in my entire life… until I saw you a few moments ago, of course.”

“Of course,” parrots Ashton.

Michael’s hand squeezes his, reprimanding him for taking the piss even as half-heartedly as Ashton did. Ashton turns his head and presses his lips to the back of Michael’s hand, so fond and so happy that Michael’s here—that Michael is _alive_ —that he doesn’t even care that people don’t usually kiss the back of their best friend’s hand.

“Calum found this, like, piece of metal that must’ve blown off the plane, I guess, and it held our weight pretty decently. We floated for hours, and Calum spotted this island, and so we started trying to paddle toward it. When we hit the rocks, we had to had to bail off.”

“Sounds like a pretty sick lyric, doesn’t it?” muses Ashton. He hums a tune, a mix of “Airplanes” and “Outer Space/Carry On” that blend together into something totally new. He sings, “When we hit the rocks, we had to bail off.”

Michael laughs, his body shaking against Ashton’s. On his other side, Calum barks out a laugh, too. They echo Ashton’s singsong, making a round of it until it sounds so ridiculous that Ashton has to join in, too.

For a moment—right then with them all connected by music—Ashton closes his eyes and pictures them all back in the studio with Feldy working on music. Calum spread out in his chair, feet propped up on the table no matter how often Feldy told him to man up and act like somebody and _get your damn feet off that table_. Michael with his guitar in his lap, fingers working over the strings like a nervous tick, playing the same chords over and over and over again until a certain pattern finally sticks. And Luke—

“Neither of you happened to see Luke, did you?”

Michael stiffens against him. The silence echoes in the wake of Ashton’s question, broken only by the sound of the waves crashing relentlessly against the rocks. Ashton tries to draw in a breath, but it’s a pitiful attempt, and he sobs it back out.

 _Luke_.

“Maybe he stuck around for the rescue. Maybe he’s nice and safe on a plane back home right now,” says Calum.

It’s a nice thought, yes, but even Calum sounds like he doesn’t believe his words for even a second. Ashton winces. His thoughts turn dark, and he thinks about the last time he’d seen Luke, about the fact that the last thing Ashton remembers of Luke is Luke bitching at Calum about blocking the aisle. Part of Ashton wants to laugh at the absurdity of it. Luke himself would get a kick out of something so mundane being his last words.

But, mostly, Ashton wants to cry. Luke was his best friend. He’s dead. Luke, who could light up an entire room with his laugh. Who could stop time with his smile. Luke. The man Ashton has spent the last four years of his life pining after. Luke is dead, swallowed up by the ocean.

Ashton thinks he’s going to be sick.

“We need water,” he gasps out, ever the practical one. He took a survival skills class one time when he was fifteen and trying to impress a girl. In the end, he hadn’t gotten the girl, but he’d excelled in the class. He never imagined he would ever actually need the skills he’d learned.

But now, apparently, he does.

He has to look away from the ocean, has to turn away from the place Luke will sleep forever. He wants so badly to join him, to run head-first into the violent waves and let them carry him back until there’s nothing left of him, either, but a watery grave. He doesn’t. He’s got Calum, and he’s got Michael, and they’ve got to be enough for him now.

He won’t let them die, too.

 

They walk forever. Barefoot, they stumble over uneven rocks and curse at the prickly vines that cover the island floor. Ashton’s feet are bloodied, and so are the others’. They’ve found water, though, at the base of a steep, rocky incline, and that’s all that matters. Ashton bends down above the stream. He cups his hands in the water and bring them up to his lips.

He drinks.

And drinks.

And drinks until he knows he shouldn’t drink anymore.

He’d like more, but he knows better than to overcorrect his dehydration. Calum seems to have the same self-restraint, but Michael doesn’t. It takes both Calum and Ashton to bodily wrestle Michael away from the water source. Besides, the water, while fresh and soothing, might not be the best thing to drink as is. They can’t be completely sure it’s safe to drink, and the last thing they need is to survive a plane crash only to croak over because of bad water.

“I want to fucking die,” says Michael, face pressed against Calum’s chest. He isn’t fighting them anymore. He is much more pliant. He has water dripping all down his chin. It’s soaking into Calum’s still-damp t-shirt. 

Calum says nothing, only tightens his arms around Michaels shoulders and kisses Michael’s forehead. He’s careful with Michael like he always is, and he is mindful of the gash on Michael’s forehead. It has started to lightly bleed again. It’s nothing too concerning, probably, but it looks painful to the touch.

Ashton, for his part, doesn’t say anything, either. He thinks of Luke, and he kind of agrees with Michael. He’d like to be dead, too. Because out of the four of them, Luke has it the easiest. He probably hadn’t even known what was happening when he’d died. Maybe he’d even been one of those killed by the initial explosion. Ashton can only hope.

But regardless of how Luke went out, he’s got it easy. He doesn’t have to worry about good water sources or shelter or fire or _rescue_. He doesn’t have to worry about what might happen if nobody ever comes to save them. He doesn’t have to worry about keeping two other people alive when he, himself, wishes he were dead.

 The sun is setting. It’s probably a beautiful sight, blood red against the blue ocean. Purples and pinks and oranges, too. Ashton is certain it’s breathtaking, but he has his back to the sun. To the ocean. He can’t handle the beast that stole Luke.

“We need to find shelter for the night. Maybe start a fire. Anybody know how to start a fire?” asks Ashton.

Calum shifts Michael aside so that he can dig into the pocket of his black skinny jeans. He pulls a small item out of it and tosses it. Ashton catches it by mere chance. He holds it in his palm and stares down at it. He feels like he’s holding the key to the entire universe, but it’s only a fucking lighter. 

“Feldy gave it t’me when we left. Said it was supposed to be the best. He, uh, thought I’d need it with all of the promo,” explains Calum. He tries for a laugh, but the setting is all wrong for it. He offers Ashton a small smile instead. “Well, he was right, I guess. I do need it.”

It’s sobering, Calum’s statement, and no amount of humor can distill the nervous tension rising around them all. Ashton hands Calum back the lighter. It’s his, and he deserves to be the master of it. It’s only fair. Calum pockets it immediately, careful with it, because he knows as well as the others just how important the lighter is to their survival. Ashton may have taken a survival skills class once, but even he doesn’t have a clue how to start a fire from nothing.

They divide tasks amongst themselves. Calum gathers wood for the fire they’ll need to start. Michael volunteers to scavenge around for something they can use to carry water. They’ll also need something to boil the water in so that they can ensure a safe water source. Ashton tells Michael as much. Michael only shoots him a small smile that suggests he had already thought about as much.

“I spotted an overhang back that way,” says Ashton, pointing in the general direction of the that they had come. It’s all so overwhelming, all of these things they have to worry about now. He feels a little useless standing around as Calum and Michael spring into action. He needs to do something, too. “Maybe it’s something we can use for tonight.”

The truth is, he is half-tempted to say _forget shelter_ and just camp next to the stream—with a hot fire and something to boil water in, they’ll be fine—but clouds have gathered in the sky. They’re heavy with rain and moving straight for the island. The last thing Ashton wants right now is to spend the night mourning over Luke and miserable in the rain. He feels melancholy enough to want to die already.

They split up, but they stay within hearing range of each other, too terrified by what this island might hold to venture too far alone. The island is blanketed by an eerie silence that suggests nobody else is here and probably hasn’t ever been. Ashton figures it’s deserted, given that they haven’t stumbled across anybody or any signs of human civilization. It’s a dangerous assumption if he’s wrong, but the island itself seems small.

Back about a hundred meters is the overhang Ashton had spied. He has to climb over a couple of medium-sized boulders to get underneath it, and once he’s there, he sees that it is more of a tiny cave than an overhang. He can’t see too far into it in the dying daylight, but it’ll do for tonight at the very least. It’ll be even better if they can get a fire going. The ceiling in here is big enough for one, probably, and there’s enough ventilation through the opening that they won’t risk dying of smoke inhalation.

He muscles his way through underbrush to carve out a jagged path for easy entrance. He doesn’t have much to work with as far tools go, so it’s mostly just his hands, and they get bloodied within the first couple of minutes. They’re not too badly beaten up, so he ignores the stinging pain as he finishes up his endeavor. When he’s done, he goes to help Calum collect firewood.

They get a sizeable stack of dead brush and a few green pieces Calum manages to cut down with the sharp edge of a rock. Ashton doesn’t really know where Calum got such a perfect rock. He doesn’t ask. He is quickly learning not to question good fortune. They’re going to need as much of it as they can get, especially if rescue isn’t on its way already.

Ashton pushes aside any thoughts of rescue when the first rain drops fall heavy from the sky. He glances through the thicket of the underbrush out to the ocean and sees the mighty storm blowing in. Lightning strikes bright, and a boom of thunder follows it. Ashton jumps, startled at the intensity. He’s never been fond of the power mother nature unleashes. It’s even worse knowing that he is now at her mercy.

“C’mon,” says Calum, struggling underneath a large armload of firewood. “We don’t need this getting wet, and Michael might need some help.”

They hurry back to the cave before the rain really starts. Ashton drops his load of firewood in the back with the rest of it where there is a significantly less chance that the rain can touch the wood. Michael is already waiting on them, seated on a pile of leaves he must have dragged in while Ashton and Calum were out on their last trip.

“Figured we might want something soft for our asses,” says Michael, umprompted save for Ashton’s raised eyebrows. “I found some coconuts. Split a few open to bring in some water and brought a few back. It’s not much.”

He waves toward the pile of coconuts just inside of the mouth of the cave, blocked from the weather by the way the rock juts out and creates a tiny nook. Ashton can hardly make out any detail in the dim light—the sun has already sank below the horizon—but he sees enough to know that Michael has done what he said he would. He has gotten them water and something to use to boil it clean.

“It’ll do for now,” says Ashton.

He hopes he isn’t lying. Michael makes an agreeable noise in the back of his throat like he hopes Ashton isn’t, either. They don’t say anything else between them. Calum works laboriously to start a fire, and, after a few unyielding attempts, he eventually gets a roaring one going. It’ll die down a little within minutes to something they can actually sustain throughout the night, Ashton is sure, but they all let out a breath of relief.

They might survive this after all.

 

“D’you think he knew what was happening when it… you know, happened?” asks Michael quietly a little while later.

It’s hard to hear him. Rain is pounding against the island outside. The wind is brutally strong, and thunder booms at regular intervals. It’s a cacophony of noise consuming their world, filtering in through the mouth of the cave where the three of them are huddle together on a pile of leaves next to the fire. Ashton only hears Michael’s question, because Michael is curled up on Calum and Ashton’s laps, his head laying against Ashton’s shoulder. His breath is warm against the cooled skin of Ashton’s neck.

The question isn’t lost on Ashton, but he wishes it were. It burns across his heart, tightens his chests into knots. He has done well trying not to think about Luke, trying not to talk about Luke, trying not to _breathe_ Luke. It’s an all-encompassing thing, this devastating hole left by Luke, and he’s doing his best not to fall apart at the seams because of it. He needs to be strong. For Michael and Calum, he needs to be strong.

“I hope not,” answers Calum, equally as quiet.

His expression is drawn taut, and his knuckles are nearly white from how tightly he’s gripping Michael’s hand. He hasn’t stopped touching Michael since they settled into the cave, as if he needs the constant reminder that Michael is alive. That Michael isn’t like Luke. Calum has treated Ashton the same way, keeping some form of contact between them. Now, they’re pressed together side-by-side, their legs tangled in a mess of nearly unidentifiable limbs.

Ashton and Michael are fairing the same, which is to say not at all.

“Me, too,” murmurs Michael. He nuzzles underneath Ashton’s chin. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About the crash. About the fact that Luke is probably dead.”

Ashton knows he should say something. He should, because this shouldn’t fall on Calum’s shoulders alone. But he can’t bring himself to speak. He can’t. Because saying it out loud—saying that he hopes Luke didn’t know what was happening when the plane exploded in the sky or saying that he can’t stop thinking about the last words he heard Luke say, the _keep your damn feet out of the aisle, Calum!_ —is acknowledging that Luke _is_ dead. That Luke is gone. That Luke isn’t coming back. Ashton can’t do that. He can’t let go of Luke.

“We don’t know that for a fact,” says Calum. Ashton admires his resilience, admires how Calum can look at the same reality Ashton sees and believe so vehemently in a different conclusion, admires how brave Calum is right now to still think Luke is alive. “A lot of people got out of that plane.”

“But a lot of other people didn’t,” says Michael, working himself up like he always does when it comes to worrying about one of the other three. “Even if they did, what if they couldn’t swim? What if Luke—”

“Luke can swim,” interrupts Calum.

He’s gentle about it on the surface, but Ashton can hear the cracks in Calum’s voice. Ashton rethinks his earlier conclusion that Calum believes one hundred percent that Luke is alive. Maybe Calum doesn’t. Maybe he knows what Michael needs to hear and is brave enough to coddle Michael with lies. Ashton has always liked himself more of a coward, but he can play Calum’s game, if only to comfort Michael.

“Calum is right,” says Ashton, speaking for the first time. He rests his cheek against the top of Michael’s head and gets an eyeful of red hair for his trouble. “We don’t know that Luke didn’t make it out of the plane and just swam the opposite direction.”

Calum shoots Ashton a thankful look. Ashton feels bad about leaving things to Calum for so long. Calum has always had a way of calming Michael, but he has never quite managed to make Michael believe something as easily as Ashton can. It was Ashton who made Michael believe they could actually make it as a band. It was Ashton who made Michael believe there was nothing wrong with liking men as well as women in bed. It was Ashton who made Michael believe in himself.

Now, it has to be Ashton who makes Michael believe in Luke—even though Ashton himself doesn’t.

“We don’t even know if he fucking got out,” snaps Michael, rigid and angry and loud. His voice echoes in the cave, drowning out the noise of the storm raging across the island. “The damn plane exploded in the fucking air! None of us saw him in ocean! Why am I the only one fixated on that? Why am I the only one willing to talk about the fact that _Luke might be dead_?!”

But Michael isn’t. He’s just the only one brave enough to say anything out loud.

“Because I can’t bear to even _think_ about it!” bellows Ashton, just as loud and just as angry as Michael. He is quivering, his entire body shaking with red-hot devastation. He doesn’t want to talk about Luke, and he doesn’t want to talk about the fact that Michael is right: Luke is probably dead right now. But he has to. Because Michael won’t drop the damn subject. “I can’t bear to fucking think about Luke being dead, because I’m fucking in love with him! I’m in love with him, and I never said, and our plane is at the bottom of the ocean right now with him in it, probably.”

“Ashton—” gasps Calum, eyes wide and voice cracking, but Ashton isn’t done.

“I was a coward then, and I’m a coward now, so that’s why you’re the only one who can talk about it, Michael. We need to survive, the three of us, and talking about Luke… I literally can’t function—can’t keep you two alive—if I focus on the fact that Luke is dead right now. I have to believe there are a million ways he could still be alive right,” says Ashton, defeated and exhausted and broken.

He wishes that were that. Wishes Michael would drop the subject, but Michael doesn’t, because that’s not how Michael deals with things. With loss. And Ashton can’t quite bring himself to be mad at Michael for clinging so stubbornly to his guns.

“But it just takes one for him to be dead,” says Michael. He nuzzles farther underneath Ashton’s chin like he’s seeking protection, and his knuckles are stark white around Calum’s hand. His voice is flat as if he can’t possibly bring himself to the idea that Luke is alive. That he can’t allow himself such hope. That he can’t bear setting himself up to feel such a devastating loss twice.

 _Yeah_ , concedes Ashton as he thinks about the explosion from the engine and the inferno that followed it, and he puts himself in Michael’s shoes for once, willing and eager to talk about Luke no matter how much it hurts. _It just takes one_.

 

They take shifts that night, staying awake to tend to the small fire. The storm rages across the island. It’s endless, seemingly, and the air is cold and damp. The fire is the only thing keeping them warm. It is also the only thing keeping them sane.

They don’t talk about Luke again.

Calum takes the first shift. Ashton wants to argue with him—he himself doesn’t think he’ll be able to shut his eyes anytime soon, so the others might as well sleep—but Calum cuts him off with a sharp _no_. Calum’s eyes flicker toward Michael, whose bleeding head has since stopped actually bleeding. Ashton follows his line of sight to find Michael staring out the mouth of the cave where the lightning illuminates the entire island as bright as day like a light switch wavering between on and off. Ashton thinks the storm might belong in Michael’s face, given the one rages across it.

But Ashton sees the glint of worry in Calum’s eyes bright and obvious against the firelight. He can’t deny Calum the peace of mind of keeping watch over Michael like the mother hen he has always been. Calum had Michael long before he had anybody else, even Luke. Ashton has to defer to him, so he takes the loss for what it is and curls an arm around Michael’s waist and manhandles Michael into a cuddle on the pile of leaves that offer only the slightest amount of cushion.

Michael goes easily enough, molding himself into the outline of Ashton’s body until his back is flush with Ashton’s front. He hand searches for Calum’s in the space between the two of them. Calum meets him halfway, because Calum is always so gentle with Michael. Calum intertwines their fingers, running a thumb along the shape of Michael’s anchor tattoo. Ashton watches the ink disappear underneath the pad of Calum’s thumb.

It’s appropriate, Ashton thinks, that it’s Michael who has the damn anchor—Michael, the one who refuses to let himself go to hopes and fantasies, the one who is so damn certain of everything in his life that he hardly lets himself be pushed and pulled by the brutal currents of their careers, the one who can’t let go of Luke.

Ashton digs his own fingers into Michael’s side, and he buries his face into the back of Michael’s head, and he wills for sleep to come to him. It doesn’t, not for a long time, and when it finally does, he doesn’t dream. _He remembers_ , and it’s a nightmare.

 

_“More promo tomorrow,” mumbles Luke_

_He has face pressed against Ashton’s neck in the sleepy way he likes after a long day. Today hasn’t necessarily been long, not by their standards, but they’ve been going nonstop all year, practically. They are already so tired from their first headlining tour that they’ve all found themselves drained of energy much earlier in the evening as of late. They’re all running on nothing but fumes, desperate for the short break in just a matter of weeks._

_So it’s a common occurrence now for Luke to cuddle up with Ashton as they unwind from the day, even when Luke has his own hotel room a few door down. They don’t share rooms anymore—sharing a tour bus is more than enough—but Ashton doesn’t mind foregoing alone time to spend it with Luke. He’d never pass up an opportunity to spend time with Luke. They’re best friends, after all._

_“We’ll be back home soon, bored and wishing we were back on the road,” says Ashton._

_It’s true, and Luke knows it is. Ashton has mixed feelings about the promo. It’s the last thing they’ve got to do before they’re released to be on their own for a month and a half or so. Naturally, Ashton is looking forward to it, especially the band-bonding holiday they’re all going on. It’ll be good to relax after such a long, stress-filled, successful year._

_But he’s also going to miss this. He’s going to miss curling up with Luke in hotel rooms in random foreign cities. His bed at his mother’s home isn’t nearly as big or as comfortable or as crowded. The bed he’ll purchase to put in his brand new apartment with Calum when they finally get around to looking for one won’t automatically have Luke in it, either. He tries not to think about how that is both the reason he lobbied for and against sharing a lease with Luke instead._

_It’s unseemly to have more than platonic feelings for his band mate—though Ashton is probably the only one who thinks so given the number of time he has walked in on or otherwise overheard Michael and Calum fucking. Ashton himself isn’t entirely sure the nature of Michael and Calum’s relationship beyond the fact that there are certainly mutual benefits involved in some manner, but he isn’t going to tell them to stop._

_Feelings aren’t going to fuck this band up._

_Except his might._

_Because he has a more tiny crush on Luke that is dangerously liable to develop into something bigger, and he doesn’t even think Luke even likes him back. Luke is no more handsy with him than he is with Calum and Michael, and sometimes Luke doesn’t make it to Ashton’s bed but rather to Calum’s or Michael’s._

_Luke doesn’t seem to need Ashton as much as Ashton needs him, but that’s fine. It is. Ashton can deal with a silly, little crush. He just needs to not live and breathe Luke every moment of every day, and he’ll keep everything under wraps. That’s why he and Luke can’t move in together._

_“I think I’m going to miss you the most,” says Luke, “when we’re on break and won’t see each other every day. I’ll miss you the most.”_

_Ashton smiles, letting Luke’s words wash right over his heart where they belong. He doubts Luke means it like Ashton wished he did. They’re nice to hear all the same._

_“Not Michael and Calum?”_

_Luke pauses for a moment then chuckles. “Them, too—but they don’t cuddle me like you do.”_

_“That’s all I am to you, then?” asks Ashton, though the laughter running underneath his words is enough to defeat any attempt at indignation he might have gone for. “A nice cuddle before bed?”_

_“That and so much more,” murmurs Luke._

_Ashton can feel the grin against his neck. The moment is heavy around them. Ashton could kiss Luke right now, he’s certain of it, and Luke wouldn’t even flinch. He’d maybe even kiss back. Ashton is tempted to test his assumption, but he doesn’t._

_The moment passes._

_Ashton’s arm is falling asleep where it is trapped between the bed and Luke, so he shifts around until Luke is mostly laying on top of him. Pins and needles dance all the way to Ashton’s fingertips. He’s glad for the new position. Luke, for his part, merely grunts as he settles into place, his head resting right above Ashton’s heart._

_Luke hums sleepily underneath his breath, curled up against Ashton. The melody is barely there, but Ashton knows it by heart. Knows it in his very soul. It’s the brightness of the darkest night. It’s the rain in outer space. It’s everything in between. It’s Ashton and Luke and Michael and Calum. The four of them immortalized in song. The four of them forever._

Ashton wakes in a cold sweat to a loud clap of thunder that rumbles across the entire island. The fire is still dancing with life, but it’s burned down a lot since Ashton fell asleep, and it’s Michael sitting vigil. Calum is wrapped around Ashton like a four-limbed octopus, his head resting against Ashton’s shoulder. One hand, however, is still entwined with Michael’s, like even in his sleep he can’t bear to let go.

“Storm is lasting a while,” says Michael, lowly.

Ashton glances up to find Michael already looking back at him. His brow is ceased in worry, like he knows exactly where Ashton’s unconscious mind had gone in his dreams. His gaze is so heavy that Ashton has to look away. He has to or he will word-vomit up everything and confess how he’d nearly kissed Luke weeks ago and how he wishes Luke were here right now so he could kiss him for real, no hesitation. That’s the last thing he needs to admit about their dead best friend, though he doubts it would come as a surprise to Michael, given Ashton’s earlier outburst.

Instead, Ashton watches a tiny droplet of blood make a new crooked path down Michael’s face from the gash on his forehead. Michael must have irritated it, must have scraped across the thin layer of scabbed skin. It needs stitches, the wound, but there is nothing any of them can do for it. Ashton thinks it must hurt like hell. He means to ask Michael if it does, but Michael speaks first.

“I loved him, too, you know.”

Ashton’s eyes snap back to Michael, but Michael isn’t looking at him anymore. He is looking at Calum instead. He is looking at Calum like he could _give him anything_. Ashton thinks of Luke and of that night in the hotel room that haunted his dreams, and he thinks that he himself could give Luke and Michael and Calum anything.

“It’s all right to admit it. It won’t change anything. We’re still us.”

But that is easy for Michael to say. Michael, the man who took fire to his face and didn’t flinch. Michael, the man who watched pretty women parade in and out of Calum’s bed for years without taking it to heart. Michael, the man who knows only how to love, how to give his all to everything, and expect nothing in return. Michael, the man who is capable of talking about death.

“Alive or dead, we’re still us. Love can’t change that.”

Ashton is quiet for a moment, waiting on Michael to speak again, but he doesn’t, and so Ashton is left with a half-formed question of, “Why are you—”

Michael smiles bashfully, glancing down at the anchor tattoo on his thumb like he always does whenever he’s about to admit something he swore he’d never say.

“He loved you, too. He loved all of us, but he loved you the most. He was afraid you didn’t feel the same—you’re not exactly as open to the idea of love as the rest of us are. I mean, you’ve got to admit that. He was blind, though. The way the two of you look at each other…” Michael trails off, and it’s quiet for a moment, until he grins up at Ashton, ruthless. “It’s like the rain in outer space. There’s nothing like it.”

Ashton snorts, because Michael is so ridiculous sometimes. Michael doesn’t take offense. He starts humming their song like Luke did in Ashton’s memory, and Ashton lets it lull him back toward the serenity of sleep where Luke is alive in his dreams. He and Michael aren’t on solid ground right now, their earlier screaming-fight is still raw in Ashton’s mind, but nothing is broken between them, except maybe Ashton’s own pride. He’ll apologize to Michael in the morning when the fresh light brings about a new day and Ashton can start to come to terms with the fact that, whether he wants to talk about it or not, Luke is probably dead.

For now, Ashton turns his head the other way, toward the mouth of the cave instead of the fire, and he stares out at the sliver beach illuminated in the flash of the lightning overhead. Thunder booms, and rain pelts relentlessly down from the sky.

Michael continues to hum, transitioning from “Outer Space” into “Carry On” by the rhythm set by the might of Mother Nature. Ashton’s eyes droop, but he still doesn’t close them completely. He wants one last glimpse of the ocean, of the beast that stole Luke from him, before he gives into sleep once more. His wish is granted barely a minute later by a bright lightning strike that blankets the entire world in split-second daylight.

Ashton sees it by the chance.

The small, dark silhouette on the beach at the edge of high-tide.

His first thought is _this is impossible_ , but his first words are, “Mikey— _Luke_!”

He leaps to his feet, carelessly tossing Calum flat on his back, and he dashes for the mouth of the cave. Michael hollers after him, but Ashton doesn’t stop. The path unfolds before him. He runs—runs to Luke—slipping and sliding over the wet landscape. Tripping over vines. Falling to his knees and scraping them up and pushing himself back upward. Caring not to stop.

Ashton runs until he doesn’t need to anymore, and he collapses on the soggy beach next to Luke, but he doesn’t touch him. Not yet. He thinks Luke is dead. Luke _looks_ dead, face-up and eyes closed. He looks just he does in Ashton’s worst nightmares, soaked and lifeless here on the shore.

Ashton is almost terrified to reach out for him.

The rain, it pounds against Ashton’s back, drenches every part of him, but he barely notices it. Lightning shoots tendrils across the angry sky, brightening the world for a fraction of a second, and it’s then in the hint of brightness in the otherwise dark world, that Ashton meets Luke’s eyes for the first time, and it’s a beautiful sight.

Ashton can’t hold back any longer. He doesn’t really know why he’s hesitated anyway. He throws himself on top of Luke, and he wraps his arms around Luke’s body, and he hugs him as tightly as he can, terrified that the fierce ocean might steal Luke from him again. He won’t let go of anything. _He won’t_.

“I thought I lost you. _Fuck_ , _Luke_.”

Luke’s mouth is smashed against Ashton’s chest, and he can’t speak properly. He shakes his head instead as much as he can in Ashton’s arms. He pushes weakly against Ashton, eager to look him in the eyes again, but Ashton is reluctant to let go. He can’t. Not yet. He’s terrified to let go. He’s afraid Luke will be stolen from him once more.

The ocean ebbs out then crashes back over them. It’s impossible to tell the difference between the ocean and the rain, and only when Ashton stops trembling does he loosen his hold on Luke.

“You didn’t,” says Luke, finally able to speak. They’re still so close that Luke’s breath puffs warm across Ashton’s damp skin. His voice is rough, like it is after they go weeks at a time playing concerts every night without a break. It sounds beautiful. “You could never lose me.”

“But I did,” says Ashton. He thinks about getting out of that plane and not seeing anybody he knew. About landing on this island all alone. About finding Calum and Michael but not Luke. “I lost all of you, but you came back to me.”

He feels the weight of the past few hours settle over him again, and he doesn’t know how to explain to Luke how he thinks he might be dreaming right now. How this might not be real. _How Luke is supposed to be dead._ He dares himself to look into Luke’s eyes again. In the brief lightning-strike brightness, Luke’s eyes are big and blue and bloodshot red.

Ashton wants to kiss Luke now. He could do it. He knows he could. The moment is heavy around them. The rain continues to fall. The storm rages. Ocean waves crash over them. But none of that is important. Luke is _alive_. He is alive and in Ashton’s arms.

So Ashton does kiss him. Luke tastes like the ocean, and Ashton can’t get enough, and neither can Luke. They breathe each other in, their lips pressed together, and all of the fears that consumed them the moment their plane fell out of the sky disappears.

They’re all alive, the four of them, and it’s going to get better.

 

Ashton corrals Luke to the cave, the two of them soaked to the bone. The storm carries on, but they don’t care. Luke is alive. He is hurt—he says he hurt his leg trying to kick away from the wreckage of the plane, and he has to lean on Ashton to walk—but he is alive. That is all that matters.

Michael greets them at the mouth of the cave, nice and dry and Luke’s name falling sinfully from his lips. His arms go around them both before they’re properly out of the rain. He drags them over to the pile of leaves they’ve made a bed out of. He orders them out of their soaking clothes, worrying over a cold that could actually kill them now if rescue never comes. Luke and Ashton strip naked and hang their garments along a jagged crevice of the cave wall where the flames of the fire Calum is building back up will dry them in a matter of hours.

Michael manhandles them down on the leaves, where he plasters himself to Luke’s side, careless that his clothes, too, are now probably in need of being dried by the fire. He curls an arm around Luke, like he needs the physical reminder that Luke actually is alive and with them, and pulls Luke to him. Luke lays his head on Michael’s shoulder.

Ashton shivers in his nakedness. The wind from the storm blows in through the mouth of the cave and dances across his damp skin. He scoots closer to the fire, eager for its warmth. Next to him, Luke does, too, and he has to drag Michael with him. Michael doesn’t complain. He allows himself to be moved as long as he manages to keep a hold on Luke.

In the yellow-light of the flames, Ashton takes stock of Luke. They all look like hell—like their plane fell thirty-thousand feet from the sky and crashed into the merciless ocean. Michael’s head wound is the ugliest scrape they’ve managed, but the purpling skin of Luke’s left leg, just above his ankle, looks nearly as painful. Luke has other scrapes on him, too, like they all do. His fair skin is tinged pink with sun, a testament to how long he’d floated listlessly in the ocean after the plane had finally succumbed to a watery grave.

“It took you long enough to get here,” says Calum, breaking the silence that has fallen over them all. He stands up from the fire. It is properly dancing now, and the heat of it is welcomed against the cool breeze from the storm. Calum drops down on the other side of Ashton, graciously blocking the worst of the wind from Ashton’s bare skin. “We were lost here without you.”

Luke grins over at Calum. Ashton imagines it must take a monumental effort to do so. Luke looks exhausted. He’s spent the past twenty-odd hours getting tossed by the sea. Ashton remembers how tired he was when he woke up face-down on the beach with the afternoon sun high in the sky. Luke must be feeling all of that and more now.

“I found you here eventually, didn’t I?” asks Luke. It’s probably meant to be teasing—the laugh he tries certainly suggests as much—but he doesn’t have the energy to carry it through. He drops his smile and looks around the cave. His expression sobers, tight and drawn in exhaustion.“Nice set up here.”

“We had a bit of extra time waiting on you,” says Calum, easily falling into the old, familiar banter that Luke invites. Calum reaches across Ashton to flick Luke on the knee, the closest part of Luke that he can reach, but once he’s there, he doesn’t move away. Calum needs the contact as much as Ashton and Michael do. The reminder that, against all odds, Luke is alive. “Plus, none of us wanted to get our asses wet in this storm.”

Luke lets out a snort that is probably meant to be a laugh. It’s easier to breathe with all four of them here together. There is no longer a heavy weight of loss hanging over them all. It is just them—together—on an island in the middle of the ocean. Castaways.

“How’d you—how’d you get here?” asks Michael, quietly. He doesn’t look at Luke, but he digs his fingers a little deeper into Luke’s side. “Why’d it take you so long?”

Luke is silent for a moment, staring into the fire. He winces at the pin-point pain of Michael’s fingers, but he doesn’t ask Michael to lighten up.

“I don’t know. I was coming out of the toilet when the explosion happened—I mean, imagine if I’d gone into the other—” he stops himself.

Michael’s fingers press even harder into Luke’s side. They’re going to leave bruises, Ashton can tell, but he doesn’t call Michael on it. If Luke doesn’t have a problem with it, Ashton doesn’t. He is also a tiny bit thankful that Luke aborts his statement at Michael’s silent insistence. Ashton doesn’t want to entertain the idea of what might have happened had Luke gone to another lavatory. He’s done enough deliberating over Luke’s death to last a life time. They all have.

“A flight attendant shoved me into this empty seat. She wouldn’t let me return to mine own. Said there wasn’t time. And, well, there wasn’t,” says Luke in a detached voice. It sounds a lot like Ashton’s memories of the crash feel—like the whole event happened to somebody else. “The plane was—well, you were there. It was hectic. Crazy. Insane. People were inflating their life jackets before they even got out, and the water level was rising. I couldn’t make it to the main exit, but there was this—this gash in the plane that people were crawling out of, so I went for it. I mean, it was that or get trampled or drown. Those were my options.”

 _Those were all of their options_ , Ashton wants to say, because he remembers the absolute terror rampaging through the passengers. He remembers the screams. The cries. The feel of Michael’s hand slipping from his and never returning.

“I didn’t see any of you when I finally got out. The plane was sinking fast, and I knew I had to get away, and there was this—this piece of wreckage that was just floating, so I grabbed it. It wasn’t really enough to support my weight, but the life jacket worked well enough for that, and, really, it was more of a comfort in the beginning—something between me and the bottom of the fucking ocean floor.”

 _But then it turned into more._ Ashton knows it did before Luke even says as much. He remembers how scary it had been to be at the mercy of the ocean with nothing more than a life jacket keeping him afloat. Calum and Michael at least had had something to float on as well. Ashton hadn’t. He’s glad that the others did.

“I floated for a while on it,” continues Luke. “Forever, it seems. I don’t—I think I must’ve passed out or fallen asleep or something, because the next thing I knew, it was pouring down the rain, and it was lightning, and all I could see what this damn island, so I bailed off and swam for it.”

Calum laughs. “So did Mikey and me. Great tactic, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” muses Luke, grinning again, “it was until I got to the beach and literally couldn’t get any farther. I was so tired.”

Ashton remembers that feeling, and so do Michael and Calum, but they hadn’t landed in the middle of a fucking hurricane. It had been nice and sunny when they’d made land. There had been no rush to pull themselves together, except to find water they so desperately needed and some wood to start a fire and a shelter so they wouldn’t have to spend the night at the mercy of the weather.

Luke, though, hadn’t been afforded such luxury.

“I don’t remember much after that,” he says, and he had looked prone enough on the beach for Ashton to believe him. “Just—just Ashton.”

Ashton smiles, leaning closer to Luke on instinct. He presses a soft kiss to Luke’s cheek when he is close enough. Luke’s skin is pink when Ashton pulls away, and it has nothing to do with the chill in the air. Ashton likes the color on him.

“It was like coming home,” says Luke, gently like it’s a secret. He bumps his forehead against Ashton’s before glancing at Calum then around at Michael. “To the three of you. It was like coming home.”

He starts humming the opening lines of “Carry On” at a slower tempo than Calum normally sings it. Ashton closes his eyes, and for the first time since he woke up on this forsaken island all alone, he lets go of everything beyond this moment in time. He enjoys it for what it is: the four of them alive and together again. He couldn’t ask for anything more.

Calum and Michael join Luke when the verses change. Ashton himself holds off until the drum beat would usually kick in then he hums along to the melody Luke guides them through. The fire is hot before, keeping them warm against the storm raging outside. Ashton feels it in his very bones that _it’s going to get better._

 

They just don’t know it that night. Or the next one. Or the ones after that.

But the ship will come soon, appearing on the horizon like a mirage, and, at first, Ashton will think it’s a trick of the light. A product of his desperate imagination. But it will get bigger and bigger and bigger until there is no denying what it is, and Ashton will yell for the others. Only Luke will come hobbling out of their cave at first, favoring his good leg, but Michael and Calum will join them, nearly naked in threadbare clothes, a beat later. They’ll stand on the shore, four-strong and castaways, in nearly the same spot where Luke washed up and wait for the dingy to reach them and carry them back.

 _It won’t be long_.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://tigerlily-sunshine.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> The specific tag for this fic is found [here](http://tigerlily-sunshine.tumblr.com/tagged/An-Island-%28in-Search%29-of-Castaways) on my tumblr.


End file.
